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Class__ 

Book__jvjL 

Goipfilit N°__ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
















NOTHING BUT 
A SOLDIER BOY 

AND OTHER POEMS 

BY 

C. E. BOOTY 



BOSTON 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

MCMXVII 





COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY C. E. BOOTY 


All Rights Reserved 


PJ' ,K A 

& A 





DEC 14 1916 


The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 


©CI.A453112 


"VvO ( , 

V 



CONTENTS 


PAG® 


Nothing but a Soldier Boy 

The Boy.7 

The Youth.8 

The Battle.9 

The Darkness. 30 

My Guardian Spirit.11 

Hast Thou Forgotten? . . . .14 

An August Night.16 

The Lights of Home . . . .18 

Stepping so Softly.21 

Engaged.22 

The School Bell.24 

My Little Old Log Cabin in the West 26 

Hard to Please.28 

My Ma. 29 

In the Hollow of His Hand . . . 31 







NOTHING BUT A SOLDIER BOY 















% 





THE BOY 


A lad with cheerful whistle 
Pressed through the willow boughs 
And scanned the lower pasture 
To find his mother’s cows. 

And when he spied old Brindle 
He gave a joyous shout, 

For well he knew the others 
Were somewhere close about. 
Then he and Fido scampered 
To start them on the run, 

For mother dear was anxious 
To get her milking done. 

But nests of little birdies, 

And berries by the gate, 

Deterred the little rascal 
Until the hour was late. 

But mother understood him 
And scolded just a mite, 

For well she knew her darling 
Had meant to do it right. 

When Laddie ate his supper 
She saw him put to sleep ; 

But tired and weary mother 
Had later hours to keep, 

For there was lots of mending,— 


7 


She had to sew for wood,— 
And do the neighbors’ washing 
To aid her widowhood. 

THE YOUTH 

All through his adolescence 
She was his good, sure guide, 
Until the doors of promise 
Before him opened wide. 

He was a fine young fellow, 

His mother’s all in all, 

But in an evil moment 
Answered his country’s call, 

To fight against his brothers 
In that Game men call War, 
Where every man’s desire is 
To mutilate and mar. 

His mother was heart-broken 
For ’twas this very game 
That robbed her of his father 
Before the Laddie came. 

And, yes, there was a maiden 
Whose lot it was to grieve, 
Because the gay young soldier 
His sweetheart, too, must leave. 
But not the least bit daunted, 
With war-lust all on fire, 

He met their tears with jesting— 

8 


Would yield to no desire; 

But bravely faced the future, 
Not knowing Hell was near, 
Until a sight of battle 
Had made his vision clear. 

But then there was no turning, 
E’en though his passions cloy, 
For in the great, vast army 
He was but a soldier boy. 


THE BATTLE 

Then came the General’s orders 
To charge the hidden foe, 

And forward, ever forward 
The soldier boy must go. 

The bullets fiercely fly! 

The shells go screaming by! 
Like heaps of slaughtered cattle 
His comrades round him lie. 
He clambers o’er the slain— 
The missiles drive like rain! 
He’s wounded! O he’s fallen! 
But stumbles on again. 

At last with shattered breast 
He topples with the rest, 

But in this Game of nations 
He gave his very best. 

9 


The battle tide sweeps past; 
The shadows lengthen fast; 

To hide the mangled thousands 
The darkness drops at last. 


THE DARKNESS 

Then in the long, low trenches 
He is with others thrown, 

With not a stone or marker 
To let his grave be known. 
They say he died for glory 
And praise what he has done, 
But they have simply murdered 
A mother’s only son. 

For in this Game of nations 
Each man is but a pawn, 

And from our strongest young¬ 
sters 

The soldier boys are drawn. 
The years on years of training 
Are thrown thus lightly by, 

And mother’s hopes are blasted 
In the twinkling of an eye. 


IO 


MY GUARDIAN SPIRIT 


The day is done, and the twilight, 
Coming so softly and still, 

Creeps, like a mist, through the 
valley, 

And gently embraces the hill. 

It steals to my cottage so lowly— 
Its steps I never have heard; 

It settles in tenderness o’er me, 
Uttering never a word. 

I sit by my lonely fireside 
With the Twilight for my friend, 
And ask her in all kindness 
My Guardian Spirit to send. 

The firelight glimmers and flick¬ 
ers; 

Strange shadows dance on the 
wall ; 

But now, for a while, they’re un¬ 
noticed— 

I have forgotten them all, 

For there, ’mid the bright red 
embers, 

Where pictures come and go, 


ii 


Stands the very sweetest crea¬ 
ture— 

My Guardian Spirit, I know. 

Her face with love is radiant, 

She gives me a dimpled smile, 

And this is her gladsome greet¬ 
ing: 

“With you I’ll abide a while.” 

Her big brown eyes are tender, 

Like the wild folks’ in the wood, 

And she asks, just by her presence, 

For me to be gentle and good. 

Her voice, like the breeze of 
summer, 

Is sweet and soft and low, 

And recalls once more those 
woodlands 

Where the fragrant zephyrs 
blow. 

She’s fresh as the flowers in 
springtime, 

As cheerful as birds in May; 

She maketh the bare room 
brighter— 

And I wish she could always 
stay. 


12 


She causes my doubts to vanish— 
Her love is a comforting love, 
Like unto that of a mother 
Or the Holy One above. 

The burning logs turn to ashes, 
The frame to my picture is gone 
Yet my Guardian Spirit, my 
angel, 

For a moment still lingers on. 

At last with soft caresses 
And a lingering good-bye, 

She leaves us once more lonely— 
My friend, the Twilight, and I. 

Each day’s tasks are made lighter 
When at evening her face I see, 
For she helps me with her pres¬ 
ence— 

She’s a Guardian Spirit to me. 


13 


HAST THOU FORGOTTEN? 


Hast thou forgotten days and hours now past 
That thou canst roughly speak to her, thy wife? 
Hast thou no recollection of that time 
Thou pledged thyself to cherish her through life? 
How canst thou grieve the patient, loving heart 
That of thy life so long hast been a part? 

Hast thou forgotten? 

When to thy mind come rushing thoughts of all 
She was and meant to thee in courtship days; 
And when in restrospection thou canst see 
Her loving face, her sweet and gentle ways. 

How is it then that thou canst now requite 
Her. love and faith with hasty word and slight? 

Hast thou forgotten? 

Thou canst look back and see her tasks well done 
All through the lapse of long and weary years. 
And yet with thy neglect and thoughtlessness 
Thou broughtest to thy loved one grief and tears. 
At times life seemed a long and dreary road; 
Didst thou do aught to ease her heavy load? 

Hast thou forgotten? 

Through days of toil and nights of watchfulness 
She eased thy pain and strove thy heart to cheer; 
She reared thy children, kept thy house, and now 
Thou art unkind to her once held so dear. 

14 


What evil hath she done? Canst call to mind 
Some vicious action that thou art so blind? 

Hast thou forgotten? 

Pray turn Life’s searchlight on thyself and see 
If thou canst not discover much of fault 
In these thy ways; then strive with all thy might 
To right the wrong. ’Tis time to call a halt 
And be a kindly sweetheart as of yore 
E’er she has left thy home for evermore! 

If thou hast forgotten. 


15 


AN AUGUST NIGHT 


The sun sinks slowly in the west. 

Ah! he has earned a long night’s rest! 

From break of day ’til twilight hours 
The fierce heat poured in molten showers 
On withered plants and dusty ground, 
While silent earth gave forth no sound. 

But when the breath of evening, cool, 

Shakes the ferns by the forest pool, 

From every shrub and bush and tree 
Rolls forth the rasping melody— 

She didn’t! She did! She didn’t! She did! 

The night winds whisper in the pines; 

On every hand are evening signs. 

The old cow’s coming up the dell, 

I time the swing of tardy bell; 

She’s reached the bars—now hear her moo! 
I love these nights, my friend; don’t you? 

The cricket chirps beside the door 
And lets us know he’s here once more. 

And seldom, now, from o’er the hill 
There comes the cry of: “Whip-poor-will!” 
The traveler passes on his way, 

And dogs must bark and old hounds bay. 


16 


Their noise disturbs the sleepy fowl 
And brings forth whimpers from the owl. 

But above all this, strident and gay, 

The song of the katydid holds sway— 

“She didn’t! She did! She didn’t! She did!” 


17 


THE LIGHTS OF HOME 


When he left town ’twas growing late. 
You see, the sun was down. 

The sharp wind sang in wires o’erhead; 
The fields were sear and brown. 

He closer drew the threadbare coat, 
More firmly grasped the lines 
And hurried up the plodding team— 
He did not like the signs. 

The sky was overcast and chill, 

The cold pierced to the bone, 

And now he peers with straining eyes 
To see the lights of home. 

The road to him ne’er seemed so long 
As on this wintry night, 

For now the air was full of flakes, 

The road was soft and white. 

He slowly takes the down grade hill 
Then smartly trots a while 
Because, before he reaches home 
There’s still another mile. 

He passes neighbor Jones’ place; 

The old school-house must come 
Before, across the snowy ridge, 

He sees the lights of home. 


18 


The next farm-house sits by the road. 

It throws its yellow glow 

Out to the cold and lonely man 

Right through the flakes of snow. 

And from the kitchen at the back 
A fragrant odor steals. 

It cheers his heart, gladdens his soul, 
Lends speed to laggard wheels. 

He crosses o’er the little ridge 
And views his cottage dome. 

For shining through its windows bright 
He sees the lights of home. 

His horses sense the nearness now 
Of feed and warmth and rest. 

They turn in at the open gate 
And jog trot at their best. 

His children hear the sound of wheels; 
The door is opened wide 
To let the light go streaming out 
To serve him for a guide. 

He hears their little voices cry: 

“Oh, mamma! papa’s come!” 

And peace and joy within arise— 

He’s in the lights of home. 


19 


Then when his evening chores are done 
And from all care he’s free, 

He sits beside the open hearth, 

A child upon each knee. 

The firelight shows his rugged face; 
There’s content in his breast. 

He sees the mother’s gentle face 
And loves his own home nest. 

The storm may howl and fierce winds roar 
And other men may roam 
But he feels happy and secure 
Beside the lights of home. 


20 


1 


STEPPING SO SOFTLY 

Stepping so softly o’er desert and vale, 

He glides through the mountains, he rides on the 
gale; 

He sails o’er the ocean and searches the plain, 
Untouched by hunger, deterred not by pain. 
Stepping so softly through wilderness wild, 

He visits the peasant and plays with his child, 
Then hastens to mansions of men rich and great, 
Unwelcomed, most truly, unyielding as Fate. 

Stepping so softly, he enters our home, 

And ofttimes, when plead with, he longer will roam 
To pass through the factory, the mine and the 
shack, 

But nothing will turn him, he’s sure to come back; 
He sits at our table; he’s with us in bed; 

Some watch for his coming with horror and dread. 
Stepping so softly wherever we go, 

He’s always beside us, he’s with us, we know. 

We see him at noontide, and meet him at dawn, 
He’s with us one moment, the next one he’s gone; 
He travels on railways and flies through the air, 
There’s nothing can bar him, he goes everywhere. 
Perceiving this, brother, pray straighten your way, 
Not knowing the moment, the hour or the day 
When Death, the Destroyer, will leave the bleak 
moor 

To sit at your fireside or knock at your door. 

21 


ENGAGED 


Ah! the magic and the wonder 
In that little word: Engaged! 

Causing us to smile and ponder 
When we think: Engaged! 

After days and nights of thinking 
With our pulses rising, sinking, 

And our hearts the love-chain linking, 
Now at last: Engaged! 

Fond looks pass from each to other, 
When we are engaged. 

She desires no other lover, 

For we are engaged. 

And while he is working, planning, 
She is sewing, fixing, canning, 

And Love’s fire Dan Cupid’s fanning, 
When we are engaged. 

Now is Love our lives entwining, 
When we are engaged, 

And our dross to gold refining, 
When we are engaged. 

Little confidences telling, 

On days coming thoughts are 
dwelling, 

And our hearts are heaving, swelling, 
For we are engaged. 

22 


Oh! how eager for each meeting, 
When we are engaged. 

Always ready with Love’s greeting, 
When we are engaged. 

It is “yours” and “mine” no longer, 
“We” and “ours” are words 
much stronger, 

And the days we long to squander, 
When we are engaged. 

All our friends are so tormenting, 
When we are engaged. 

Why are they so unrelenting, 

When we are engaged? 

’Tis no matter where we’re going, 
Some their jokes at us are throw¬ 
ing. 

What a debt to them we’re owing, 
When we are engaged! 

Are those days forgotten? Never! 

When we were engaged. 

Nothing now those links can sever 
When we were engaged. 

We look back on them with pleasure, 
They, to us, are dearest treasure, 
For ’twas then Love gave full meas¬ 
ure, 

When we were engaged. 

23 


THE SCHOOL BELL 


Can you hear that school bell ringing 
Through the crisp, cool morning air? 

Can you hear the children singing, 

As each day they gather there? 

O’er the land are school bells ringing, 
Urging youth to Learning’s hall. 

May these lessons that they study 
Stay in memory best of all. 

Ring, O school bell! through the ages, 
Call the youngsters to their books; 

Help them see on Nature’s pages, 
Bright, blue skies and running brooks. 

Oh, thou teacher! give them wisdom, 
Fill their hearts with words of love, 

So that thou may have clear record, 
When received to courts above. 

Once for us were school bells ringing 
In those days we love so well; 

When we heard some loved one singing, 
Who has bidden us “Farewell.” 

Life’s school bell for us is ringing, 

As the years so quickly speed. 

May we haste to heed its summons 
And of learning feel the need. 

24 


When we have prepared our lesson 
And its substance we shall tell, 
May we hear our Teacher answer: 
“Child, thou hast recited well.” 


25 


MY LITTLE OLD LOG CABIN IN THE 
WEST 

As I ride upon the bronco 
O’er the plain for endless hours, 

And with eyes I search in vain 
For a few small prairie flowers, 

Then I long for it again 

And the time when I may rest 

In my little old log cabin in the West. 

As I watch the grazing cattle, 

See the few broad landscapes sketches, 

A spotted snake with warning rattle, 

From beneath a sagebush stretches, 

And I leap from off the saddle, 

But at night I long for rest 

In my little old log cabin in the West. 

As I gaze o’er sagebrush hilltops 
Into a hot and cloudless sky, 

See no bright and sparkling streamlets, 

Hear the curlew’s piercing cry, 

There are times I’d like to leave it, 

And to lay me down to rest 

In my little old log cabin in the West. 

As I pass o’er dusty roadbeds, 

’Twixt the prickly pear and sagebrush; 

Start the little, dark grey sage hens, 

Pass through towns of prairie dogs; 

26 


Through a mist I dimly see it— 

Oh, the joy! for soon I’ll rest 

In my little old log cabin in the West. 

I can hear the coyotes yapping 
Not far from my cabin door. 

I can hear the water lapping 
On the Willow Branch’s shore. 

I can hear the pack rats tapping, 

As I lie and take my rest 

In my little old log cabin in the West. 

I love every old log in it 
From pitch-pines on rocky hilltops; 
Fashioned with my own hands was it, 
Built upon the sandstone rocks. 

But there’s a time when I must leave it, 

When no more I’ll get to rest 

In my little old log cabin in the West. 


27 


HARD TO PLEASE 


Ma does not like Evangeline 
And pa is mad at Lou, 

And sis can’t bear Amanda, 

So what’s a guy to do? 

My aunt turns up her nose at May, 
And uncle laughs at Nell. 

The cousins all make fun of Fan 
And grandma sniffs at Belle. 

Bub will not speak to Marguerite, 
My chum abhors Lucile. 

They are the hardest bunch to 
please,— 

You don’t know how I feel. 

I guess I’ll have to pick the girl 
That pleases me the best, 

And when she’s mine, my all in all, 
She’ll have to suit the rest. 


28 


MY MA 


My ma can’t play a violin 
Nor write a story book; 

She cannot sing an opera song, 

Nor paint a forest nook. 

But when a feller’s feeling tough 
Or when his head is hot, 

She’s always ready for to help— 
She’s Johnny-on-the-spot. 

Ma does not walk in high-heeled shoes 
Nor wear a picture hat; 

She don’t read up on suffrage news, 
But I don’t care for that, 

’Cause ma can bake the things boys 
like 

And mend his stockin’s, too. 

She stops and helps with ’rithmetic, 
When there’s lots else to do. 

My ma don’t wear a diamond ring 
Nor put on dresses swell; 

She cannot make a temperance speech, 
But stories she can tell 
’Bout Daniel in the lion’s den; 

’Bout Jonah and the whale; 
About the Babe in Bethlehem— 

A dandy Christmas tale. 

29 


There’s lots of things that ma cant 
do 

That other women can. 

But when she pats me on the head 
And says, “My little man!” 

I feel as big as Washington, 

I’m almost six feet tall; 

I like the other women some, 

But ma’s the best of all. 


IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND 


A mother may hope and scheme and plan 
For the future of her son. 

Yet the way she sought 

Can come to naught 

In the hands of the Holy One. 

The youth may boast of days to come 
When a great man he will be, 

Yet lose the race 

When face to face 

With the Ruler of Destiny. 

The maiden may dream her dreams of love, 
And the future be rosy in hue, 

But Life’s cord breaks 

And her sad heart aches 

O’er the grave of her lover true. 

The soldier stays bravely at his post— 
On advance his fond hopes dwell; 

But the rank he chose 

Comes to a close 

By the bursting shrapnel shell. 

A farmer may toil from dawn ’til dark 
And his work be all in vain, 

For Failure’s met 
If he does not get 
The sunshine and the rain. 

3i 


The rich man gloats on his pile of gold 
In his greed desiring more. 

But the wealth he’s got 
Avails him not 

When called to the other shore. 

Let no man say his life’s his own, 

Or prate of the future grand, 

For God knows best 
And our lives all rest 
In the hollow of His hand. 


33 















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